The Wise Guy
by browneyesonly4
Summary: Tony's new undercover assignment may prove to be too much to handle when going up against Ricky 'The Rocket' Roccisano. Mafia-related plot. Minor Tiva  Does not play major role . Rated M for violence, language, and future sexual content.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Hey, guys, I know it's been awhile and I don't have much business starting a new story when I haven't updated any of my other ones in so long. I understand if you resent me for it. I will defend myself, however, by saying that I found my creative juice when my father bought the entire first season of an `80s show entitled Wiseguy, with Ken Wahl and Ray Sharkey. I've fallen in love with the plot. I immediately thought Tony would make an incredible wiseguy, because he's already got the personality for it. I just needed a way to get him there._

_A word to the wise, this story lightly ships Tony and Ziva, because it's fairly obvious what the writers of NCIS are doing with this whole shebang now. I figured I'd err on the side of caution and all that grand stuff and just put them together, in a way that it's not all in your face. What will be in your face, though, is what will come later on, that won't include Ziva whatsoever. Keep your eyes peeled._

_Ciao,_

_Kat_

* * *

><p>Stepping through the elevator that morning, Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo didn't expect anything to be different. Ziva on one side, and McGee on the other, he foresaw a perfectly normal day filled with perfectly normal—if not boring—cases. He had started telling his coworkers about a fight he'd seen one time as a kid when his father had taken him to a baseball game and then dinner in Brooklyn. Everything seemed fine.<p>

"…it was just like in _Wiseguy_ when Vinny and Sonny—" Tony stopped short as he neared the bullpen. A short, slender blonde was standing with her back to the group, talking to Gibbs. For a split second, he wondered if it was EJ, back from her sabbatical in New York, but was soon proven wrong when she turned around. She was just as pretty as Barrett had been, with a charming smile and slightly upturned nose, but her eyes were green, not blue. Her hair, too, was slightly different, the hairline forming the shallowest widow's peak and falling in well-managed layers around her face.

Gibbs glanced between them and smirked. "Eileen O'Shea, meet my team." Gesturing toward McGee first, he murmured, "Special Agent Timothy McGee shares responsibility with Abby, who you met earlier, over intelligence and computers." Tim smiled and stuck out his hand for her to shake, but she declined with a polite smile. "Next, Special Agent Ziva Davíd. She is our newest official agent, but was a Mossad Liaison Officer for five years, a Mossad Officer in Israel for much longer." Ziva smiled, but said nothing.

Tony wasn't interested in the conversation anymore by the time Gibbs introduced him simply as "Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo." No 'Senior Field Agent' or 'Witty Movie Aficionado.' Just "Special Agent." He called B.S. on that one until Gibbs clapped him on the back and told him to meet Eileen O'Shea, Director Vance, and himself in Upstairs Conference Room Fourteen in half an hour.

Tony stared in bewilderment at their retreating forms. "What was that about, huh? I only just met her…"

"Maybe," Tim began, crossing the bullpen to his desk, "they want something from you?" Tony translated this as, _Maybe she wants you_. And that was obvious, because what woman didn't want him?

He felt Ziva's shoulder (he knew her energy) brush against his and looked down at her mischievous eyes. "Or maybe Gibbs wants to make it clear this one is off limits." Tony was silent, but Ziva had more to say. "I saw you cashing her out. You think she is attractive, no?" She smirked, a low chuckle escaping her.

Tony didn't defend himself, nor did he correct her mistaken idiom. Sure, maybe he _had_ given her the old once-over. But he wouldn't say he found her _attractive_. No, she was just…_intriguing._ But that wasn't anyone's business.

"Anyway, like I was saying," the senior field agent continued, "this kid, Monty, had another guy, Sid, in a headlock, but he was simultaneously ramming his knee into Sid's stomach while Sid did the ol' one-two on Monty's kidneys." Pausing to laugh, Tony reminisced. "It was genius, really. Pure comedy. We were kind of stuck, Dad and I, because we'd have to somehow walk around 'em to get to our car."

Ziva held up a hand. "Did you not hear a word—"

"Nah," Tony said with a smile, cutting her off, "they weren't saying anything. They actually kind of sounded like cavemen with the—" He grunted and beat his chest. "You know. But we waited until the cops showed up and took control over the scene."

Tim snorted. "I take it that's how you found out you wanted to be a police officer?" He typed something into his computer. "Nice."

"No, McSnobby, it wasn't." Tony readjusted his tie and smoothed his hair. "Although, it _did_ influence the decision a little." He stood, grabbing a pen and notepad from the top drawer of his desk. "Now that I feel sufficiently underappreciated, I'm going to go figure out what I've done wrong in Boss's eyes. If you'll excuse me…"

As he climbed the stairs of NCIS Headquarters, he didn't realize it would be the last time for a while that he'd feel as appreciated as he did just then.

* * *

><p>"You want me to do <em>what<em>?" Tony sat, jaw as slack as the rest of his body was tense, at the Director's words. "I _have_ a job!"

Gibbs eyed him, nonverbal warnings swimming in his clear blues even as he said, "Yeah, DiNozzo, we know. But this is relevant to our case." Tony still shook his head, both unsure and noncommittal. "You've been an excellent agent for nearly ten years, Tony. Loyal, observant, logical, level-headed. They're the traits we look for in an agent, and you've given them by a hundredfold."

Eileen jumped in. "Those traits are also what we look for in a role like this, Special Agent DiNozzo." If Tony could have run from the room when she spoke, he would have. Eileen's voice was low and smooth, while still being acutely feminine, in a way that made his pulse race. "We need someone who's sincere enough to win this guy over, but someone smart enough to pull this heist off."

"And we are positive that person is me?" Tony murmured shakily, a nervous grin plastered on his face. "Guys, come on, I've done my fair share of undercover work in my day, but this … this might be the one that breaks the camel's back."

Gibbs shook his head and Vance spoke, his syllables well-timed and deliberate. "You've been on the inside before, Special Agent DiNozzo." Tony cursed the Director's subtle reminder of Jeanne Benoit. "You know how the work goes. You win his trust, do his bidding, and stay in contact with us."

"I've done this once," Tony said through his teeth, fiddling with a scrap of paper hanging off the edge of his notebook. "It didn't end well…" He directed his gaze at Gibbs. "…for anyone involved."

Vance sighed. "We can't make you take the assignment, but if you do turn it down, we may reconsider the next time an opportunity arises." It was a clear but simple way of saying, 'Take it or leave it,' but it impacted Tony's thought process. "I was thinking Special Agent Gray would be just as good of a candidate for the job."

"I don't know what you're trying to pull," Eileen snapped, standing, "but I've looked at both agents' files. I don't want Gray. I want DiNozzo. If I can't have DiNozzo, I'll do the job myself. No offense, but I don't like what that would entail." Her green eyes turned nearly black, pupils dilated with the adrenaline pulsing within her veins from agitation. Facing Tony, she said, "Special Agent DiNozzo, Ricky 'The Rocket' Roccisano shot a Marine's brains out, and you're just going to sit there and cry the blues about some past incident?" She received no response, which only seemed to fuel her. "What was it, a girl? Did a girl get her heart broken?"

Tony blinked, but said nothing. How could he? He had no argument about that. In the grander scheme, there wasn't anything he _could_ say. She was right. He had to let go of the past. Especially when he was so close to having the future he'd dreamt of.

O'Shea leaned over the table. Tony didn't particularly feel the urge to look down her shirt, because he felt that if he did, he'd be missing something important. Like maybe his death, what with the stare-down she was giving him. "Special Agent DiNozzo, I know I'm FBI, but I don't give a damn about the hierarchy of the federal system. All I care about right now is the OCB, and where they're leading us is exactly where that case file you're sitting in front of is: The Rocket."

"Tony," Gibbs murmured, his voice raspy, "justice gets ugly sometimes." Tony nodded. "But what's uglier is letting some scum-of-the-earth mob boss take control of a population just because they think they're better than everyone else. Half of these guys come from squalor, and they climb the ladder to wealth by killing off the small guy." His blue eye's showed the intensity he held inside. "You can help everyone stop it. We're all on the same team here. We've all got your back."

Tony took a deep breath and let it out slowly, looking first at Gibbs, then Vance, then Eileen, and finally down at the folder that sat in front of him. "So, you've all got my back?" Each of them nodded. Eileen grinned triumphantly at him, knowing she had won. "Where do I sign?"

* * *

><p>"You're going <em>where<em>?" Ziva rolled over and wrapped an arm around Tony's bare waist. "Why?" She settled into his chest; he could feel her eyelashes tickle his collarbone.

"I'm being let go, Zeev," Tony said with a sigh. "You know I'd love to stay in the Navy Yard, but sometimes things come up. So, I'm going to do a little traveling." He smoothed her hair. "Besides, this might be better than you think." He tried to act as solemn as possible. After staging a fit earlier in the office, after stomping around the bullpen and berating McGee's intelligence, Tony thought it was time for him to calm down and to accept the fact he'd just been fired from his favorite job ever. To his team, it still seemed like he'd lost his job—and Ziva was far from finished apologizing for screwing it up, Tony knew, even though she hadn't had a thing to do with it—so he was fine with it.

She frowned. "And _what_ makes you think _that_?" With the lights off and the way Ziva was squinting to glare at him, Tony had a difficult time seeing her brown eyes.

"Well, my dear," he began, "you and I won't be in such close quarters anymore. That means we'll be distant, and you know the saying, don't you?"

"You'll be within calling distance?" she guessed and entwined her ankles with his.

Tony shook his head. "Well, yeah, of course I will…sometimes. But no. Try again." Their game of footsie continued for a few moments while the former Mossad officer drew the correct idiom from the depths of her memory.

"You'll be…keeping your distance?" Ziva traced Tony's mouth with her fingertip. His lower lip twitched, sensitive to her touch.

He purred. "Getting closer. Oh, so closer…Third time's a charm, Zeev."

Ziva let out a huff. "No. I give up." Pouting, she rolled away from him, taking most of the covers on her bed with her. Tony chased her and pulled her back into his chest.

Planting kisses in her hair, he whispered, "Distance makes the heart grow fonder."

* * *

><p>"Ay, Dih-Noht-zo," Tobias Fornell greeted softly from in front of Tony's desk. "I hear we're going to be working closely soon."<p>

Tony groaned, willing a black hole to appear in the floor. As witty as the FBI agent could be sometimes, there were far too many experiences in Agent DiNozzo's past where Fornell was accusing him of something. His being around just made everything more difficult.

Cringing, Tony answered, "Yeah, Agent Fornell, I guess so."

"Here's everything you need to know," the older agent said, plopping a sealed, "confidential"-stamped envelope on the younger's desk. "Codes, names, addresses, numbers. You start tomorrow." Fornell turned and started for the elevator, perching a fedora on his head. Pausing mid-stride, he turned back around. "You'll do well, Tony. Anything you're nervous about?"

Tony nodded. "A few things, yeah."

Fornell laughed. "One word, Tony."

"What's that?"

Tobias spun on his heel and continued to the elevator. Before the doors swept shut, he called, "_Fugeddaboutit_."

Tony smiled and repeated the word under his breath a few times. _Yeah, DiNozzo. Fugeddaboutit. You've got this. You're Italian! You can pull this off._ He practiced his Brooklyn accent in his head and then decided that doing so was a good idea, rather than speaking it out loud. Ziva slipped into her seat across from him and stared.

"What are you mouthing?" she asked, pressing keys on her keyboard.

"It's something from…a movie." While it was only Ziva, who wouldn't have told anyone about his assignment, Tony was hesitant to explain in too much detail. The mafia was pretty cutthroat, at times, and he wouldn't want the one woman he was finally serious about to fall prey to their methods of extracting information. "You know, all those gangster movies. You wouldn't know it."

"Gangster?" Ziva thought for a moment, her lips pursed. "You mean 'ay, ay, ay, diggety dog'?" Tony blinked, unsure of what he had just witnessed, and then burst into laughter. "What is so funny?"

As Special Agent, he had seen countless things that brought him to tears—sometimes out of grief, but mostly out of laughter. Kate Todd had a sharp tongue that rivaled her wit. Ducky's wandering stories were always a comfort. Gibbs' comments usually held an underlying joke, although occasionally it was a bit difficult to find. Abby was always a fun time and McGee was just fun to laugh at. But once Ziva Davíd had joined the team, Tony found himself laughing much more often. She seemed to do things that struck him speechless, things that he had never seen nor heard. The woman was a surprise within herself.

"Perhaps," Tony spluttered, "I'm just surprised you spoke gangs-_ta_ at me…" Ziva's lips made an 'O' of understanding. "A gangster is not a gangsta. Gangsters are classy." _And I, I am a gangster._

* * *

><p><em>AN: That wasn't so painful to sit through, was it? =] I want to just throw a shout-out to my amazing beta, _surferdude8225_. She hasn't beta'd this one yet, but she's under a lot of stress with schoolwork right now so I said it was okay. Let's all give lots of virtual hugs and kisses to her, okay! And maybe cookies. Cookies make everything better.  
><em>


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N:_ _Hello, everyone. If there __**is**__ an "everyone," that is. I just wanted to thank you (if there is a "you" for reading the fic. I do have __**one**__ request, however…I'm in a workshop group because of my major (Creative Writing) and I've grown accustomed to receiving critique on my pieces. I've learned that regardless of how well you, as the writer, feel the piece is…there's always more that can be done to make it better. Pardon my French, but "shitty first drafts" are a prerequisite of any good piece of writing. I understand that this is –__- but I would really appreciate it if, if you read the fic and like it, or read the fic and don't, if you'd leave a review saying what you think worked well or what you think didn't work so well. These __**are**__ first drafts, mind, so they will be tweaked and whatnot. It would just make the writing process better. I'd like to grow as a writer and I think everyone can understand that. __**::smiles::**__ My beta, surferdude, hasn't looked over this one yet…here's hoping I didn't do too poorly of a job…! Love, Kathryn_

* * *

><p>In Tony's opinion, a black limousine wasn't necessary to get from LaGuardia Airport to <em>Ristorante Pecorino<em>, but Eileen had been so adamant about "needing" the limo and "not needing" to look suspicious that he'd feared going against her wishes. He sunk into the plush leather seats and pulled his new ID out of his chest pocket. His picture and information were the same, but in the national database, he had been arrested several times for treason and killing the late arms dealer La Grenouille. Tony was unsure whether that would help or hurt him, but as long as he was able to prove his ability to get "jobs" done, he was confident that anything was possible.

Ziva only knew that Tony had cleaned out his desk and that he was taking a new job as a detective with the Metropolitan Police. To her, it looked like Tony had lost his job and was staying around. Truth was, he was going to New York City, right to the center of the whole shebang. He felt bad for misleading her, for lying to her face when all she'd wanted for the past year was honesty, but O'Shea was just as staunch with that rule as she was about the limo—it had to be this way. Eileen had, however, said that if he needed backup at some point, someone on the inside with him, Ziva would be his girl. Tony hadn't acknowledged this, really, but in his head he thought about how she really _was_ his girl and had been for the past five years or so.

McGee, also, was only told that his partner had been let go. Tony hated lying to everyone, but he was terrified of O'Shea and had a sinking feeling that if she had a wicked left swing, so he just went along with it. Abby was the one who nearly had Tony calling off the entire scheme. Her eyes were teary and her pleas of, "No, don't go, Tony" were almost too much for him to handle. He could tell that she would be storming up to Vance's office at some point to ream him for all of the shit that was going down, but unfortunately, Tony's hands were tied. He figured Gibbs could handle Abby on his own. Maybe she'd be the only one in the building other than Gibbs and Vance that would know about the assignment, and Tony knew that such an A-plus secret-keeper would find that type of thing exciting. He just hoped that nothing happened that would put her in the position of letting that secret out.

"We're here, Mr. DiNozzo," the chauffer said, getting out of the limo and circling the car to open Tony's door. "_Ristorante Pecorino_. Have a good lunch."

Tony stuck a food out the door and drew himself up out of the seat. Standing next to his driver, he said, "Don't go anywhere." With warning eyes, he tried the best "strict" face he could muster, which was apparently successful as the man nodded timidly and shut the car door behind Tony's muscular frame. "What's your name?"

"Douglas Finster, sir." Douglas wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead, which Tony found odd since it was mid-November with not an ounce of heat or humidity in the air.

Tony shook his head. "Not anymore. You're Finch, and you're going to be my driver. Is that okay with you, _Finch_?" He took his wallet out of his pocket and counted out five twenties. To the outside eye, it would look like Tony was tipping Finch, but the outside eye tended to be wrong. Taped to the underside of one of the bills was a note. In that note was a phone number, code, and address along with directions on what to do with the information. "I'll be back out here in a bit, Finch. Be good." And with that, Tony went inside to meet his new boss.

"Ah, Mr. Dih-_Noht_-zo," a man said in a thick Brooklyn accent. He was in a booth by the window. "You're here. Sit, sit, my friend." Tony obeyed, assuming this man was Roccisano, and took the seat opposite him. He noticed that the man's taste in fashion was comparable to his father's. Roccisano's suit had to be either Gucci or Valentino—Dolce & Gabbana at the very least. Dark charcoal with what looked like a light-blue pin-stripe, a baby-blue dress-shirt, and midnight blue tie. Tony worked his way up to the man's face. Deep-set wrinkles adorned his face and thin, silver frames sat low on his prominent nose. This brought attention to his big, brown eyes. Tony could tell Roccisano had been attractive at one time, maybe not so long ago. "What," he cried, "you aren't gonna speak to me, or what?"

Tony smiled. "This is actually a business venture, Mr. Roccisano." Sipping on the water in the glass that sat before him, Tony opened the menu.

"Don't be a _scustumad'_, huh?" Roccisano murmured. "Call me Ricky, and I'll call you Tony." Tony blinked. He could agree to that. "So, what kinda business venture are we talkin', here, Tony? One for you, or one for me?" Ricky took a long sip of coffee, peering at Tony over the rim.

"For you, of course." Tony closed the menu and leaned forward. "Ricky, you're going to hire me, and I'm going to help you make millions."

Ricky let out a wheeze of laughter. "Me? Hire you? Get outta here."

The NCIS agent smiled, steepling his fingers. "A wise businessman like yourself wouldn't really turn down an offer before he even heard it out, would he?" The mob boss considered this for a moment and then nodded, gesturing for Tony to continue. "I'm sure by now you've had my background checked and therefore know that I used to work for the Naval Criminal Investigative Service."

"Yeah, you were a fed."

"Keyword here is 'was', Ricky." Tony dropped his voice. "I didn't like some of the stuff I was witnessing. All the corruption in government, all the requests for bail-outs, all of the lobbyists screwing the little guy over."

There was a flash through Ricky's eyes of something that could have been excitement, interest, or something completely unrelated. "It pissed you off."

"Damn right it did, Ricky. I started nosing around. I knew stuff no one else did, and I knew how to get more information." Tony had thought out this entire story, passed it by O'Shea, and memorized it by heart. He had actually started to believe it, and it was scaring him a bit.

It also worried him that Ricky seemed to agree with everything he had said thus far. "Sell information to get information. That's the way stuff goes nowadays, Tony. It's the only way you can really survive anymore."

Tony was pensive for a moment. "Not in the eyes of the federal government, man. When you find the sweet spot, though, you've gotta take advantage of it. So I did. I sold some of the deepest held secrets available to Rene Benoit."

Ricky sucked in a breath as he said, "La Grenouille?" A smile played on his lips. "You _knew_ La Grenouille?"

"The Frog and I were close. His daughter and I were..._closer_." Tony would have normally swallowed here, but he was so into his character that he partly forgot he had ever loved her. He even laughed with Ricky and the cronies that surrounded them. "And then, a year later, I killed him on his yacht. He'd double-crossed me. Made promises to me and then broke them. You don't do that, not with me."

The white-haired man's ring glittered under the soft lighting of the restaurant as he took a sip of coffee. "You must have done some time for that, huh?"

Tony chuckled. "You could say that. I paid for that murder with my job. They investigated it—why, I don't know, because the way I see it, I did the damn feds a favor by killing that animal—and they found out I'd sold secrets to 'The Devil,' they said."

"No, I know The Devil. Diablo; he's very much alive," Ricky interjected. "Maybe you'll meet him someday in your line of business. He always likes gossip."

"I don't know about that, Ricky, but what I'm positive of is that in this world, the government is out to get everyone." Tony knew the next lines would be the clincher. Hopefully, Roccisano hadn't been a fan of _Wiseguy_, because if he had, Tony's cover would be blown because of a misused quote. "It's all about taxes, Ricky, _taxes_. They take money for stupid things like war and leave the rest of us to _die_."

Ricky nodded, his eyes burning under his brown irises. "Tony, meet me at this address at seven tonight. We'll discuss this 'business venture,' as you called it, in more depth. For now, let's eat lunch."

* * *

><p>Tony collapsed on the bed of his hotel room, exhausted from three hours' worth of schmoozing. He was accustomed to the game of Kiss Ass, but today had been something different. A mixture of Kiss Ass, Brownnose, and Worship the Ground 'The Rocket' Walks On, multiplied by several thousand. <em>That's kind of like Infinity, right? <em>He rolled over on his stomach and checked his new cell phone for voice-mails and missed phone calls, hoping his new boss hadn't contacted him yet.

There was a familiar number under 'Missed 'Calls', but Tony couldn't figure out to whom it belonged. Hoping for the best, he called the phone number and was pleasantly surprised when Ziva answered. The first thing out of his mouth was what he had been instructed to say: "Baby!"

"Uh…Tony?" Confusion on her voice was palpable. "What is with the pet name?"

"Baby, I missed you." Tony had checked the room earlier for bugs or wires and had come up empty handed, but without McGumshoe there to use his hi-tech gadgets, there was no way Tony could check for sure. For now, he had to play it safe. "Check your top drawer, babe, see what I left you." Sirens outside his window blared. For being in such an expensive hotel as the Jumeirah Essex, it seemed impossible to escape the crime that plagued the City's streets.

Focusing on the sounds on the other end of the phone line, Tony heard a drawer open and Ziva sigh before saying, "Why?"

"Because I love you."

"Was that code for something, or do you really love me?"

It broke Tony's heart to say, "I really love you, Sweetheart." In fact, he _did_ love her, but saying it undercover was different from saying it to her face. It wasn't right. They spoke for almost an hour before his phone beeped. Tony checked the screen and saw Ricky was on call-waiting. "Baby, I've gotta go. You should go do something nice for yourself…and think of me. Check the other side of that letter you're holding."

"You made me an appointment at a spa?" Tony made a noise of affirmation. "Well, thank you, Tony."

"No problem, babe. Love-you-bye," Tony said quickly, and hung up in order to answer Ricky's phone call. "Hey, Ricky."

Ricky laughed. "Look at this guy, doin' his research." His accent seemed almost thicker on the phone. "You still gonna meet us at seven?"

The younger man thought for a moment. How would he tell O'Shea and Fornell about this without tipping off Ricky? "Yeah," he finally said, "Yeah, I'll be there. Sorry, I was just putting the address into my phone's GPS."

"Change of plans, Tony." Ricky raised his voice slightly. "Don't come to us. We'll come to you. Take a spin around town, talk this whole thing out." He seemed like he had accepted the idea of hiring Tony on, probably because the mob boss had done some research of his own after lunch. "How's that sound, Tony?"

"It sounds—" _Click._ Tony couldn't even get out his agreement before he was hung up on. He could see that this arrangement would clearly take some getting used to.

* * *

><p>"Slide on in here, Tony. How's the hotel treating you?" When Tony got into the car, he noticed that Ricky had changed his suit to a white one that reminded Tony a lot of Rene Benoit's fashion selections. In his hand, the mob boss held a snifter of some sort of alcohol. Tony didn't know if it was brandy or not. It could have been cognac, but he wasn't about to ask that question.<p>

Instead, he answered Ricky's. "The room is great. It has a fantastic view."

"Great, that's just great," the older man murmured, a smile tugging the corners of his lips upward. "I have some good news and some bad news."

Tony played along. "Alright…" he said, leaning back into the warmed leather seat. He tried to look as relaxed as possible. "Bad news first, or…?

"No, no, Tony. That's not how I play this game of life," Ricky said with a bark of laughter. "Good news always comes first, and then the bad news. Keeps a man humble." Quirking an eyebrow upward, he said, "Keeps his expectations from getting too high, too."

Tony began to worry if he had been made. He wasn't sure what to expect. "Alright, then, the good news first. Glad we settled that!" He shot Ricky a grin that he hoped wouldn't come off as anxious.

"The good news is that we're gonna let you work for us, Tony." Ricky took a sip and pondered his words. "You seem to have a good head on your shoulders. You sound like someone who we could really use around here." Tony waited for it. "The bad news is that I'm not one to automatically trust somebody, so if you're not the God-fearing kind already, you'd better start praying that I take to you, _capisce_?"

The NCIS agent's heart was beating so hard he wondered if anyone else in the vehicle could hear it. Despite his internal terror, Tony was able to keep his exterior demeanor calm and collected. "Yeah, Ricky, of course. You'd be a fool to trust just any _goombah_ off the street."

"I think this is the beginning of a good thing, Tony," Ricky said. He smiled for a beat and then a stonier expression replaced the grin. "Don't fuck it up."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> I do not own _'Wiseguy', 'NCIS'_, o__r any of the characters you recognize. Ricky Roccisano is of my own creation. I am not taking part in any mob activity. This story is for entertainment purposes only and is complete fiction. _


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